


infringere

by Antartique



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Assumed Relationship, Captivity, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Possible Character Death, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25852471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antartique/pseuds/Antartique
Summary: Fraldarius are people of obsession, of passion halfways and to the side of devotion, and just like his father and his brother before him, Felix chose to obsess over Sylvain Jose Gautier.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	infringere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosumosu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosumosu/gifts).



> **Warning** : this is not cute. This is not _Sylvix_. This is Felix being a terrible human being who is _obsessed_ past the point of common sense. There will be pain, angst, blood, non-con and people who are really blind. If you got here looking for cute Sylvix, click the back button, because this is not what you're looking for. Also everything I write has some hint of Rodrigue/Sylvain, so watch out for that.
> 
> This is titled 'in which felix does a bad thing in the name of love' and it gets really bad later on.
> 
> Doing spring cleaning with my files and here is what I and my darker half have been working on! Terrible, possessive, entitled, selfish Felix is the grave I chose to die in, and you will not stop me. Read the tags. Also, this is sort of an interest check: do you want to read this story? Tell me why!

It is over. They have won.

The gates of Enbarr look too far for something that is supposed to be a mere hour away. They also look far cleaner than they should, for they got assaulted by blood and smoke for days: it is a lot to say of the citizens, who had gotten tired of war and tried to scrub away all its remains in the day after the final battle. Many of said citizens did not even care that the Emperor had fallen, praying instead for respite from the economic crisis brought on by the war.

Dimitri looks at the gates, too far and yet too close, with rather lost eyes. For years, he had lived only for this moment, only for revenge, but now he has achieved it he does not feel quite as at peace as he should. Edelgard had been his sister, once, even if she appeared to have forgotten it by the end —the end when all humanity fled her, leaving only a monstrous husk behind. She had done so much, destroyed so many lives, gone so far that even her own allies abandoned her in time, and yet...

Slaying that monster had not given Dimitri peace, not at all.

He will probably never _find_ peace. His mind is muddled, his sanity barely hanging on from a thread of too many supportive hands and comforting words, and he does not know what to do. He has never been at ease with the feeling of inadequacy for his destined role, never been at ease with the _idea_ of peace. Even back when his life was still whole, he enjoyed hearing of the conquests to the north, of battles to the east. Even now that their battle is done, he finds himself hoping something else will happen so he will not have to work for his ‘happy’ ending.

Lucky him there are so many people willing to help.

The camp has already been rearranged for said help: there is practically a small town outside of Enbarr, welcoming citizens needing support and waiting for news to return. Lorenz and Hilda had left the morning after the battle, Seteth and Yuri a few hours after them; Ferdinand and Bernadetta never returned from Enbarr, staying back to assess the damages, while Ashe, Caspar and Linhardt rode off to deliver the news to each Noble House of the Empire. Sylvain, Petra and Cyril were already packed for their departure the following morning, and three ravens had been released to bring letters to the protestant churches. Come next month, every corner of Fódlan and some of their neighboring countries would know the war was over, and that Fódlan was aiming for _peace_.

And yet, Dimitri cannot bring himself to return to Fhirdiad.

Eventually, he will have to. They need to escort Byleth, Flayn and Lady Rhea back to the Monastery, but apart from that, Dimitri’s duty is in Fhirdiad. While he would like nothing more than take off with Petra, or ride with Lorenz to the Alliance and beyond, he needs to return to his throne.

 _His_ throne. His kingdom. His people, who waited for him under oppression and welcomed him back with open arms. _His_ kingdom.

For now, though…

“Cheers!”

Sylvain lifts a cup at Dimitri when he returns to his tent. The man is sprawled atop maps and letter drafts, Byleth’s journal, and various bedspreads, sloppy in his inebriation. He is just… laying there, wearing a few too little clothing with a blush that goes from his face down his shoulders. Byleth is sitting next to him, an empty bottle at their feet, dragging a comb down Sylvain’s hair in a drunken attempt to make him less of a mess. There are already a few colorful braids scattered on red hair, proof of how _long_ the two have been waiting for Dimitri to return.

Sylvain should not be drinking. He is _supposed_ to leave tomorrow, and needs a good night of rest to prepare for the long trip north. He is not supposed to be in Dimitri’s tent either, but he feels like this isn’t really a social call. He can feel anticipation in the air, and _fear_ , and there is just _something_ about the whole situation that feels wrong in more ways than one.

Byleth… is easier to explain, mostly because Byleth almost never leaves Dimitri’s tent. Ever since back in their Academy days, Byleth had claimed a corner in Dimitri’s living space, leaving their journal and teaching plans behind like a lost cat. They don’t take much space, so Dimitri doesn’t mind much, even when he has had some awkward conversations with people about it. Their presence is an everyday thing, more in the last week since they are often chased by the clergy to do their paperwork and the tent was a well-known safe space for them; of course, that just means the clergy tend to hover around their tent at all times until Dimitri tells them to _please_ go away before they have an unfortunate accident.

Byleth doesn’t drink much, though, so the few empty bottles littered around are a cause for concern.

Still, Sylvain. He should definitely _not_ be here, because he leaves tomorrow. He should also not be drinking, or half-naked, or just lounging on Dimitri’s bed like— like he definitely should not. He should be back at his own tent, with Felix, plotting how exactly he is going to sneak past his family to get their peace offering to the Warlords of Sreng. Yet here he is, braids in his hair and opening another bottle of whatever alcohol he brought today.

“What are we celebrating?” Despite the apprehension he feels, Dimitri only has polite words for Sylvain. He joins his friends, accepts a cracked cup of alcohol that will probably end up broken later on, and pretends all is well. He is not expecting anything from this meeting.

“Oh, you know,” Sylvain says, waving his cup around as he leans closer to Dimitri, Byleth slumping on his other side with a sigh. Now that he looks closer, he can see they are also barely clothed, shoulders covered with a thin mantle that doesn’t help with the heat at all; he decides to focus on the braid hanging next to their ear instead of _anything_ else— not Sylvain’s bare skin pressing against his arm, or the smell of his sweat in the air, or the soft hair brushing his neck as Sylvain burrows his face on Dimitri’s shoulder, or the chapped lips kissing his skin when Sylvain lets out a small laugh—

He can’t do this.

“Just… wanted to be here, before I leave.” The murmur of words is shaky at best, full of unshed tears and tight with repressed emotions, just as Sylvain always was, is and will be: laughter that is always too practiced, a casualness that is too polite to be real, relationships that are only deep enough to brush off with a few sentences. Much like Dimitri is a dead man wearing a living skin, Sylvain is an actor that is forever on stage, a puppet controlled by desires not his own.

Not his own, and not Dimitri’s either, but if his hand is holding on to Sylvain’s waist a little too tight, or if he breathes a little deeper than usual, trying to carve the scent in his memory for eternity—

He _can’t_ do this.

“Shouldn’t you be with Felix?” Because in the end, drunk or not, Sylvain belongs with Felix just as Dimitri belongs on the throne he does not want. So their roles have been since young, even back when their lives were still whole: Felix loves Sylvain, and Sylvain loves Felix, and Dimitri loves the Sylvain in his memory as he will never have the real one. He has made peace with this long ago, and he definitely does not expect anything from this meeting.

“He says he is coming with me.” And there it is again, the fear, the expectation he had felt earlier. The battle is over, they should have laid their weapons down, yet Sylvain has always worried a little too much, his vision of war-painted with border skirmishes and late-night raids. For Sylvain and the northern war that never ends, for Sylvain who loves Felix and his more caring side, why would he want to bring Felix back to the fields of blood-soaked snow? “ _Please_ , I can’t—“

Alcohol has never done anything to Dimitri, but he will blame his actions on it nonetheless because he is an idiot who will never get what he wants unless it is drunk late at night. He wants to protect Sylvain, not _ruin_ him no matter how much the raging beast inside himself says he should; he wants the hand caressing Sylvain’s cheek to be that of a supportive friend, not a possessive claw that could rip him apart. He _wants_ so much yet so little, _wants_ when he should not be touching at all, and he settles for pressing their foreheads together instead of a kiss he has been dreaming of his whole life.

Sylvain’s eyes are closed tight, his breathing too fast and rough to be healthy, but he laughs through it still. His hands are buried in Dimitri’s hair, probably trying to put his rat’s nest in a fake semblance of order.

“I know it is— stupid, just empty paranoia,” he speaks, voice still shaky and wet with tears, and from this angle Dimitri can see the shadows around his eyes. When was the last time he slept well? “But I’m so, _so afraid_ —“

“I will talk to him.” Dimitri also needs Felix, needs something to ground him and keep him from floating away. He is lucky he has so many supportive people around, but they have so many things to _do_ , they can’t just send people away without a good reason. Felix will have to deal with meeting Sylvain again in Fhirdiad, probably in three or four months’ time, and then—

Then they will have their happy ending.

“Thank you, Dimitri.” Sylvain is looking at him through eyes half-open, a small smile in his lips, and Dimitri could just lean down and kiss them, ignore Byleth and pin Sylvain to the mattress as he has always wanted—

Sylvain kisses him.

It is short, small, barely there, but it is a kiss, the kiss Dimitri has been wanting for years. It is just a brush of lips, but Dimitri would like nothing more than to pull Sylvain in and steal his breath away; Dimitri _wants_ that, wants to be the center of Sylvain’s world even if for a single night, wants so much it hurts. And it hurts, because this is _wrong_ , because Sylvain is Felix’s and not meant to be Dimitri’s, because Dimitri does not want to hurt his oldest and dearest friends. He will _not_.

He pushes Sylvain away.

“You don’t want this,” he says, and it breaks his heart to see Sylvain’s smile fade into nothing. Like a curtain falling on stage, Sylvain also falls, leaving behind the blank slate of the actor without a role, the empty look of the Sylvain from their childhood days. “Please, don’t do this.”

Had Sylvain stayed for a second longer, Dimitri would have been weak. He would have pleaded for Sylvain to stay, even if just to hold each other through the night, sharing kisses and words that he will store in his memories while Sylvain forgets. He could have, so easily, just reached for Sylvain and taken advantage of a drunk man for his own comfort.

Had Sylvain stayed for a second longer, Dimitri would have strained their already tense relationship until it broke under the pressure.

Sylvain does not stay. Dimitri has to watch as all layers of practiced smiles and fake pleasantries settle back in place while Sylvain clumsily pulls himself out of their mess of limbs. He doesn’t say a word either, just nods at Dimitri with a smile and walks out of the tent with as much grace as he can.

Dimitri grabs one of the empty bottles and crushes it in his hand. The pain is real, and grounds him, and then it is not there as his hand glows with healing magic.

Byleth looks so disappointed.

“Dimitri, I love you, but you are such an idiot.”

That is the last time he sees Sylvain alive.

Here is something Dimitri does not know of:

That night at the gates of Enbarr, Sylvain returns to his tent still very drunk, and with a heavy heart from rejection. He enters the tent and lays down on his bedding, and Ingrid holds his hand as he looks at the dying candle with empty eyes. There is an ugly bruise on his ankle and another on his wrist, the shape of a hand Sylvain knows well. There is a memory of words and claims he wishes he could forget, and a memory of a kiss too fresh to not cause pain.

“I am afraid,” he says, voice small like when he was hiding in his wardrobe, fearing his Father’s anger. “I’m tired, I can’t—“

Ingrid knows very little, because Sylvain does not trust her with his feelings, has not trusted her in years. She knows Sylvain is afraid, but not what he is afraid of. She knows Felix has plans and that’s why he _has_ to go with Sylvain, but she doesn't know what those plans are. She knows Felix loves Sylvain, and that Sylvain loves Felix, but she doesn't know how twisted that love has become, or how far a man’s obsession can go.

Ingrid will soon realize she should have spoken up.

Here is something neither Dimitri nor Ingrid know of:

When Ingrid falls asleep, Felix comes back to the tent he shares with his childhood friends. He kisses Sylvain good night like he has been doing for a long while now, even if Sylvain is rarely aware of it; he does not like it, and Felix hates that Sylvain does not like it, because Sylvain is meant to be his in all ways it matters.

This time, Sylvain is not really aware, but he still struggles. Felix holds him in place until he stops struggling, until he gives in to the unwanted pleasure that Felix will grant him tonight. Sylvain cries out, so Felix covers his mouth. Sylvain sobs and begs, voice broken along with his heart, and Felix loves the sound of it just as much as he loves Sylvain.

Fraldarius are people of obsession, of passion halfways and to the side of devotion, and just like his father and his brother before him, Felix chose to obsess over Sylvain Jose Gautier.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I be posting this so publicly? You know what, I don't even care, I just want to sleep. 
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who tolerated me in their DMs screaming about the terrible potential of Sylvix, and also to everyone in the Dungeon server, you guys are the best. As I promised, I'm leaving comments unmoderated for the idiots who read it without caring for the tags. Leave a comment, and come visit me at @ ReunLuet on Twitter!


End file.
